


Death is Not a Defeat, But a Cure

by uss_hilson



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Cancer, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Drug Use, F/M, Lung Cancer, Minor Violence, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uss_hilson/pseuds/uss_hilson
Summary: Bella Crawford, dying of cancer, meets Hannibal Lecter.
Relationships: Bella Crawford/Hannibal Lecter, Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Jack Crawford/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. The Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by NBC’s Hannibal, Season 1, Episode 4 – “Oeufs”; Season 1, Episode 5 – “Coquilles”; and Season 2, Episode 4 – “Takiawase”.

Having heard from Jack about Dr. Lecter for weeks before meeting the psychiatrist, Phyllis “Bella” Crawford – who at the time had been hiding her own fatal cancer diagnosis – had begun to become jealous of the time and attention this newfound acquaintance was receiving from her husband.

After several rejected general invitations, when Jack came home with an actual time and date for the two of them to dine with his new friend, Belle relented. _Surely, how difficult could it be to get through one gourmet dinner?_ It **_had_** to be better than the catered affairs honouring FBI retirees where all the food was mass-produced and bland.

Bella was surprised upon meeting Lecter. She was usually an excellent judge of character, but despite Jack’s assurances of what a great guy Lecter was, she remained unconvinced upon first impression. Lecter reminded Bella of a big cat – a panther, or perhaps even a tiger. Unlike boastful lions, Lecter was cunning and intelligent. However, like panthers, he also proved to be elusive with his perfectly tailored mannerisms, and, like a tiger, he seemed incredibly powerful _(and perhaps dangerous?_ ) when provoked. While he held his utensils with grace and ease, Bella could see the strength emanating from his muscles as Lecter cut a piece of meat and gingerly placed it into his mouth.

Even more disconcerting, Lecter knew within moments about the state of Bella’s health. He said nothing directly, but with a passing comment and a pointed glance, Bella was certain that he knew. It bothered her – _how did he know? How could he have discerned that she had cancer from simply meeting her?_ Unbeknownst to her, Lecter’s nose had the amazing ability to detect illness. In fact, in that way, Lecter was actually like a hound. Earlier that week, he had even diagnosed Will Graham with encephalitis; of course, he kept such discoveries to himself. Hannibal was perpetually curious as to how such things would play out, and his action – or inaction - depended on which potential he felt would be more interesting.

Bella couldn’t help but wonder for a moment if Jack hadn’t staged some weird intervention with the help of his new friend. After all, he had questioned her – by pointedly _not_ questioning her – on whether she had grown dissatisfied with their marriage and found solace elsewhere. But, Jack wasn’t the type of person to air their dirty laundry publicly. Truth be told, they really didn’t have any dirty laundry. Other than the fact that he occasionally got too involved with a case and that she was hiding her lab results, the Crawfords had a perfect marriage. He understood that she wasn’t the type to want kids, and that suited him just fine. Jack liked kids alright, but it was hard enough to compartmentalize on a daily basis without having to talk to a kid about Bert and Ernie.

For a moment, while eating her salad, Bella wondered if Lecter hadn’t somehow ran into Dr. Schultz, her oncologist. _I’ll have to tell Jack eventually_ , she realized. But even then, she wanted it to be on her own terms. And that’s the way she intended to die, too. In fact, as someone who spent several years overseas living amongst a foreign people, in a foreign land, immersed in a foreign culture, Bella Crawford found it absurd that anyone who was terminally sick couldn’t just end it when they wanted, how they wanted. If she didn’t die coughing to death, she was fairly certain that Jack would be resigned to _accidentally_ giving her too much morphine to ease her pain.

Bella knew what to expect. Her own mother died when she was just 20. She knew all about the sleepless nights, the weight loss, the hair loss. The loss of appetite her mother endured for the weeks that stretched into months as Bella, with her limited culinary skills, tried every recipe she could find that might somehow appeal to her mother and perhaps even put a couple of pounds on Ma. Of all of her experiments, the only thing that seemed to work – at least for a time – was Bella’s macaroni and cheese recipe. Lots of cheese, lots of cream, lots of calories. In fact, Bella herself had gained a good ten pounds during that time, she’d made it so often.

It was a shame – Bella’s mom **could** cook. When she first got her diagnosis, Aleatha felt compelled to try to write down everything she could for her daughter. Recipes, family geneology and lore, anything that she could think of that seemed important. Of course, in her panic, Aleatha felt that _everything_ was important, yet there just wasn’t enough time. And then, sooner than expected, she just didn’t have the energy to write it all down. There were a few weeks where she had Bella take down her dictation, but by then she’d been having chemo brain and found it hard so hard to think, let alone speak coherently.

Bella didn’t want to die like Ma. She didn’t want to die until she was old and grey, but at this rate, at the rate her cancer was progressing, she really didn’t have a say in the matter. While she would go to her grave with it, truth be told, the real reason Bella didn’t want to have kids with Jack ( _or with anyone, for that matter!_ ) was that she knew that her mom’s undoing was genetic. Bella knew how selfish it would be to pass her fatal diagnosis on to a child she would love more than anything. She couldn’t do that to a kid, and she couldn’t do that to Jack…providing he lived long enough to have grandchildren and wasn’t shot down in the line of duty.

Bella remembered her primary care physician, Dr. Hargrove, asking about her family history of cancer before referring her to Dr. Schultz. And Bella remembered Dr. Schultz, his voice gentle, telling her, “I’m afraid this is a hereditary issue, Mrs. Crawford.” But, she didn’t need to be told. She knew. From the first day after her mother’s diagnosis when Ileatha couldn’t find the strength to get out of bed, Bella knew. And then, Ileatha had admitted to her that her own mother had died at the age of 45, and her sister, Bella’s Aunt Flossie, had died of it at 56. All from lung cancer despite none of them so much picking up a cigarette after the age of 14, and even then, that was only to experiment. “Tobacco don’t like us, Bella, so don’t even go bothering,” Ma had told her when she was 12. “Don’t even go bother.”

While he was the picture of a courteous, attentive dinner host, something about Lecter was off. Bella couldn’t put her finger on it, but Lecter seemed detached from the situation he crafted while simultaneously studying his guests and their interactions with one another. Jack brought up his mother’s cooking ( _he **always** did that at dinner parties_), and then made his well-worn joke that he’d managed to marry his mother in terms of culinary prowess. He always forgot to mention Bella’s macaroni and cheese.

One time, after an intimate FBI affair, Bella asked Jack why he never mentioned her one good recipe. “Because no one wants to hear about macaroni, baby. It’s what kids eat and it comes in a box.” She replied to him that _hers_ didn’t. “No, but most does.” Most did, but not hers. Hers was good, but even the relatives who came to Ileatha’s funeral only noticed that Bella had gained weight as a result of eating her work product. No one seemed to recognize the effort she went through – without any help from any of them – to save her Ma. What good is family if they only ever show up after you’ve died?


	2. Debriefing in the Car

While Jack was right, the food was amazing and Lecter was an impeccable host, Bella had reservations. In short, everything about the man was **perfect.** Perfect hair, perfect manners, perfect dining room, perfect plating presentation… _that was it!_ Everything about the damned man – down to his high cheekbones and unique, chiseled looks – was perfect. **No one was perfect.** No one. Jack was really close, but the man still had his faults (like errantly dropping his used dental floss into what he always assumed was the trash can but was often the floor an inch or two nearby). Hell, Bella even admitted to having a fault or two _(but not many more than that_ , although Jack might say otherwise).

The ride home was a shit show, just like Bella had predicted. Jack had wanted her opinion on Hannibal, and while she knew better than to truly speak her mind, Bella felt that she was already keeping enough from him. Besides, at that point, she hadn’t wanted to engage with Lecter anymore (although that would change later as her condition progressed). “He’s fine, but he’s not really my cup of tea, Jack.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief. “I’m really surprised, is all. I mean, the man is sophisticated, intelligent, worldly – all the things you typically admire.”

“This is stupid. I’m not going to fight with you over my opinions. I’m also old enough to know that I don’t have to like every person I meet. Diner was fine, and you’re right, he’s a good cook, but I don’t want to go back to Chez de Lecter anytime soon, okay?”

Jack sighed. “Okay. It is what it is, and you’re right – I know better than to try to force **you** to do anything.” He smiled and looked over at her, and she reached out and put her hand on his leg. It was a peace offering.


	3. Gotta Tell Him

Within a few short weeks, Bella couldn’t hold off on telling Jack any longer. But already, she was too tired to fight with him on the fact that she should have told him sooner and explain why she didn’t.

In fact, it was that realization along with the knowledge that Jack wasn’t one to air their issues that Bella realized that Lecter was the perfect buffer for the two of them. Despite her innate distrust for him, it was Lecter’s skill as a psychiatrist ( _because she had no doubt of his talent in that regard_ ) and Jack’s high opinion of him that made Lecter the best option.

Calling Dr. Lecter’s office on a Wednesday morning, Bella arranged to meet with him that afternoon. “Dr. Lecter, thank you again for meeting with me, and thank you again for your hospitality when you hosted us for dinner. I…suppose you know why I’m here.”

“I could guess, but I’d rather you tell me,” Lecter replied, his fingers intertwined, resting on his knee, his legs crossed.

“I’m here because I have cancer, and I need to _finally_ tell Jack, and he’s not going to take it well.” Of course he wouldn’t take it well; Bella didn’t take it well when her own mother sat her down and gave her the news. Hell, Bella didn’t talk to Ma for days, she just sat in her room, crying and pouting. Finally, she’d calmed down enough to write Ma a letter telling her how much she meant and how much she loved her. “I’m giving this to you now so you know. Does no good to give it to you after you’re dead if you’re gonna end up dying on me anyhow”, Bella had told her mother, holding out an envelope containing a handwritten letter. _Out of the mouths of babes_ , the woman sitting in front of Lecter ruminated, stuck in her own memory. 

“I thought that perhaps you could provide counsel for us, as a couple, so Jack can get through this.”

Lecter inclined his head slightly to the right. “I’m not so sure that is a wise idea. Jack has known me for quite awhile now, and I know your secret – we’d best not gang up on him. I can counsel him separately, I can counsel you separately, but I don’t think it’s wise to see you both together. I hate picking sides.” Hannibal met Bella’s eyes and he smiled wryly. “I can, however, give you the name of an excellent couples therapist; however, if your time is as short as you claim, you may be better served enjoying one another’s company instead of sitting in therapy.”

_He was right_ , Bella acknowledged. This was going to be bad enough for Jack without forcing him to talk about his feelings and dissecting their marriage shortly before its inevitable dissolution.

“Makes sense. But, would you at least call Jack and have him meet me here so we can talk?”

“Of course. Anything I can do for Jack, or you, would be my pleasure. Shall I call now?”

Bella considered for a moment. No time like the present – it wasn’t like she was going to get any better. “Yes please, thank you.”

Lecter rose and walked over to his desk. “Jack, this is Hannibal. Are you free? You are? Then I need you to come to my office please, it’s important. No, it’s not the sort of thing we should discuss with a phone call. I’ll be here waiting for you.” Hannibal narrated the conversation so that Bella was informed of Jack’s responses, and after he hung up, he turned to her. “He’ll be here within the hour. In the meantime, can I offer you something? Tea, coffee, wine?”

Bella had been prepared to decline Lecter’s offer, but she heard her voice reply, “Coffee would be nice.” Lecter left to fulfill her request and after awhile, came back with two cups on a tray, complete with sugar, cream, and spoons. After handing Bella a cup and saucer (made of Damask china _\- yet again, the man was perfection personified_ ), Hannibal held up the sugar. 

“No, no thank you. This’ll do just fine. You spend time in the service, you learn to like your coffee black. Or cold. Or any way you can get it, oftentimes.” Bella looked down at the delicate cup in her hands and smiled. After taking a slow sip, she rested the cup on her lap before turning her attention to Lecter. “Promise me you’ll look in on him after I’m gone. You may think that you know Jack well; you may think he’s a strong man, that he can take care of himself. But, he’s not. He’s…he’s strong alright, but this will kill him, at least a large part of him. I can guarantee that with as much as I l love him, if the shoe were on the other foot, I’d take this much better.” Bella paused. Lecter already knew that she was dying, he might as well know a bit more about her. “I’ve been through this before. With my mom. This exact thing.”

Instead of offering her clumsy condolences, Hannibal offered Bella praise. “No wonder you are so strong and brave, both favourable traits that Jack admires in you.”

“And that’s why I’m here with you, actually. _Jack admires you_ ; he respects you. You know Jack well enough, you know that he doesn’t look up to many folks, but he looks up to you. And, I know you’re smart enough to help him get through his emotions and the dark places.” Bella took another sip of her coffee – Hannibal noticed her hand tremble as her cup met with the saucer.

Bella Crawford and Hannibal Lecter maintained polite conversation while finishing up their coffee, waiting for Jack to arrive. Throughout the course of their conversation, Bella developed an appreciation for Lecter. The man seemed genuine even if she still felt that she couldn’t wholly trust him. “ _Then why did I ask him to promise me that he’d look after Jack after I’m gone?”_ , Bella asked herself. _“Because I know he will_ ”, she realized. 


	4. The Time has Come

It took about an hour before Jack arrived at Hannibal’s office. Upon hearing a knock at his office door, Hannibal rose to greet Jack. In the distance, Jack saw his wife sitting in a chair. She exuded grace and he loved her, but he was worried upon finding Bella with Lecter, whom she previously spoke about in a negative light. “Hannibal, what’s wrong?” Jack’s voice was terse as he looked at the man briefly before turning to address his wife. “Bella?”

“Hi, Jack.” Bella rose and started to walk towards him.

“I’m going to step out at this point. You two take all of the time that you need, just close the door when you’re done.” Lecter smiled curtly at the Crawfords before exiting his own office.

After the door had closed, Bella turned to her husband. “Jack, we gotta talk.”

“I could’ve guessed that,” he eyed her suspiciously. “I take it that I’m not going to like what you have to tell me.”

“No, ‘fraid not.” Bella grabbed Jack’s hands and lead him over so that they could sit side-by-side on one of Hannibal’s several couches. 

“Jack…” When they sat down, Bella kept Jack’s hands in hers. **That was good.** It meant that she wasn’t going to tell him that she’d been having an affair. He loved her **so** much. He would inevitably forgive her for such a betrayal, but he would rather not have to worry about that. Surely, no matter what Bella was about to tell him, it’d be okay because they’d get through it together. **It wasn’t.**

“I’ve got cancer, Stage 4 already. It hasn’t spread yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I found out three months ago; I’m not expected to last more than a year, and that’s a best case scenario.” Bella’s voice was like a cascade of bullets aimed at his heart. Damned giant-sized rifle cartridges, all seemingly aimed at his heart. Jack couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. Couldn’t talk. Hell, he couldn’t even get up to run out of the damned room. If only he could, he might be able to forget what his wife said. _Take time, reverse it. Erase the bad parts and move through it._ Wasn’t that some old school jam back in the day? Why was he sitting in Lecter’s office, thinking about old school rap lyrics? Why was his wife here, telling him that she was dying?

After a moment, Jack Crawford, Agent-in-Charge of the Behavioral Science Unit of the FBI, in Quantico, 47 year old black American, husband for 22 years, snapped back to his present location. For a moment, he wondered whether he had missed anything Bella might have said. But, once he looked at her, Jack could see that she had been sitting on edge of the couch, holding her breath until he reacted. He wanted to scream but couldn’t. He wanted to scream, but not at her – at realizing that he’d have to have a life without her. Instead, he gasped, unable to push air over his vocal cords to speak. ( _Hell, he wasn’t sure what he would say anyhow_.) Instead, tears started to come, and he hung his head.

“Jack,” Bella began. “Honey….” Jack rose, breaking the connection between their hands. 

“What about treatment? Isn’t there any sort of treatment you can try,” Jack looked up at his wife, frantic.

“Honey, it’s not gonna matter. Doctour says I could try chemo, but it’s only going to prolong the incurable.” Bella squeezed her husband’s hand. The damned holding back the flood broke, and Jack was no longer merely crying.

“ _Of course it matters_!” He ripped his hands away from her. “Of course it matters – **you matter! _You matter!_** And I love you, dammit. I love you, Bella….”

Bella wanted to cry, but she knew that she had to stay strong right now for Jack. Besides, it would be soon enough that Jack would have to be strong and pull the weight for both of them. “And I love you, honey.” Jack sat down and sank his head against Bella’s chest and her arms enveloped him, one hand on his back, rubbing it. She did that on the first day he came home as Agent-in-Charge at the FBI. It calmed him, it sympathized with his current difficulties, and it told Jack that she loved him….

After shedding several more tears which fell down the front of Bella’s dress – _oh god, she was wearing white! She looked great in white but she only wore it on rare occasions, special occasions –_ Jack sat up and looked into his wife’s eyes, begging, pleading with her. “Please. Please, baby. Bella, please? Try chemo. Just try it for me. Just try, see if it helps. For me, okay?”

How could she deny him at his lowest? Bella held in a sigh. “Alright. For you. But, if it makes me start losing my mind like Ma did, I’m gonna stop. I’ll have to, Jack.” Now, tears came to Bella’s eyes. The two held each other and cried together for some time. They cried over her death. They cried for the aftermath. They cried that they might not be able to celebrate their 23rd wedding anniversary. They cried for all of the plans they had made to go back to Italy and perhaps retire there. They cried for themselves, but most of all they cried for each other. 

The Crawfords would leave Lecter’s office together, holding hands. (Bella had taken the bus – she’d hoped to get a ride home with Jack. Besides, she didn’t trust herself to drive longer than ten minutes anymore, she’d started to become so tired.) That night, they barely talked. Instead, they went upstairs, changed into their pajamas, and Jack held Bella, slightly inclining his head so that he could smell her hair. He didn’t let go until she fell asleep.


	5. The Beginning of the End

Over the next few weeks, Bella and Jack had several serious discussions. They went and talked to a lawyer to get an estate plan drawn up like they’d been talking about for the last five years. They went to a Baltimore funeral director and discussed options. Bella wanted a small funeral and then to be cremated after her organs were harvested for donations. If Jack died before Bella, he’d want to be cremated and await Bella’s ashes. That was unlikely though. Instead, the plan was for Jack to be buried in Tennessee with Bella’s ashes, in the same cemetery as his folks. They would finally be reunited.

~~~~~~~

In telling Hannibal about her condition, Bella allowed Jack a gift. Since it was already known, it gave Jack someone with whom he could discuss it outside of the Crawford house. _After all, Jack didn’t air his dirty laundry._ Bella knew how stressed her husband had been recently with one rash of killings after another cropping up, and she knew that he already discussed his cases with Lecter. Now, the doctour could be Jack’s one-stop shop for male bonding and thoughtful, intellectual discourse when Bella was too tired to listen. That was the one upside of her cancer, Jack had started to make it home as soon after five o’clock as he could – he knew their time together was short.

Soon after she told Jack, Bella confessed to her director and HR. “I want to enjoy retirement while I can!” However, she went to chemotherapy three times a week, a total of 12 sessions, before she had to stop. It was making her too sick and by the time Jack got home, she was either sleeping or too tired to enjoy his company. Bella didn’t really want to approach her onocologist, but she didn’t really know how much longer she had left. “Is there anything else I can try, treatment wise?”

Dr. Schultz shook his head and frowned. “I’m afraid not. It’s either chemotherapy or nothing at this point, unless you’re just talking about pain management. We could do that – schedule a time to come in with your husband so I can show him how to administer the morphine. And, in the meantime, I’m going to write you a prescription for _something else_. I’m not a hippie, but it works for about two thirds of my cancer patients – at least until you’re too far gone.” Dr. Schultz immediately regretted his choice of words despite knowing Phyllis Crawford to not only appreciate honesty, but swear at him in response. 

“Goddammit, Dr. Schultz, what the fuck? Are you sure you’re reading the fucking results right? This is bullshit!” Schultz was use to that reaction at the news he had to give, but it usually came from men. In a sad way, he found Bella’s reaction to the news refreshing. Usually women cried at him uncontrollably.

Bella left her oncologist’s office – she had stopped cancer treatment and began cancer _management_. She took the bus to Dr. Grow’s Medicinal Dispensary. It wasn’t in a great part of town, but since it was just a half block down from a low-cost pain clinic, it did a steady business. Her doctour had told her to ask for Jim, and after she said who sent her, Jim knew just what to offer. “For pain management, sedation, relaxation, go with some Kush. I’ll get you some Blackberry Kush to smoke, and for gummies, we’ll look at Indica Kushy Punch.” Jim looked at Bella, a middle-aged, white collar, obviously learned lady. “So…do you know… _have you ever_?”

Bella shook her head. “Not for many, many years. Tenth grade, I think.” The two shared a chuckle.

“Okay, so in case you didn’t know: There’s Indica and Sativa. Indica’s great for bed and promotes a deep body experience. Sativa is known for increasing your energy and creativity and is good to use during the day. And then there’s hybrid which is, well, a blend of both.

“You said that you’re no longer working. All of my cancer patients who aren’t working, just dealing with pain, use Indica. So, for you, I’m recommending Kush in two options. The best way is to smoke it, but there’s also some gummies that, I think, when you cough too much over time, will be easier to use than smoking.” Bella agreed with Jim’s recommendations and after dinner that night, wrapped her head in a scarf and pulled out her first ever pipe and a lighter. (A small silver pipe was respectable. She hadn’t even had a bong when she _had_ tried pot, and she certainly never bothered with it in college. She was far too focused on her studies.)

“Whoa, Bella, whatcha doin’?” Jack asked upon hearing the lighter engage. He had been reading the day’s newspaper that he’d started at breakfast.

“The guy at the store called it ‘Blackberry Kush’. He says it’s what the cancer folk all take to relax.”

“Well, don’t go bogarting it.”

Bella raised her eyebrows at him. After 20 plus years of marriage, some questions didn’t need to be spoken aloud to be asked. “Don’t worry, they never test anymore, and even if they do, they won’t test me. And so what? I’m supporting my wife. Otherwise, I’ll just retire.”

Bella had been inhaling from the pipe and started to cough from laughter. “You? Jack Crawford. Retire? Please!” She passed her supplies to Jack. He was about to depress the lighter when he paused and turned to look at her. “Do you want me to retire, to be with you?”

Bella frowned and sat on the arm of Jack’s chair so that she could bring his head to her bossom. “No honey, I don’t want you to retire. Your work’s too important. People need you – they’ll die without you.”

“You’ll die without me.”

“I’ll die either way, honey. Just sooner than expected is all. We all die; it’s okay. I just wish we had more time.”

“I wish we had more time, too.” Jack squeezed his wife tightly as a tear fell onto her nightgown. 

Bella used her right hand to pull Jack’s face to hers. “I love you, Jack,” she whispered on his lips. The two made love that night for the first time in weeks. During his climax, Jack realized that he was stupid to think that Bella had been cheating on him. She was entirely in the moment, even when he had to move so that she sat on top of him. With her diminished lung capacity, he couldn’t risk her getting short of breath and breaking into a coughing fit. It wasn’t that Jack was overweight, but he was a tall man with a broad frame, and he had retained his muscles from his time in the Army’s boxing program. Bella had joked with him after he moved aside that she would die rather than risk some young EMT see her gasping for air amidst their throes of passion. It would be one of the last times that the Crawfords were able to become intimate.


	6. It’s Not Working Anymore

Over the next few weeks, Jack Crawford smoked marijuana with his wife, but eventually the inhalation would cause more pain for Bella than it was worth. As suggested by the store clerk, Bella switched over to her gummies, but sometimes she needed a shot of morphine, too.

After it could no longer help Bella, Jack never smoked pot again. He never really liked how it made him feel, but he was determined to be the most supportive spouse possible, and it was a bonding experience for them. Besides, while Bella tried to take the morphine herself, sometimes Jack had to give his wife her medicine, and he wasn’t about to be under the influence to do it. And while he would live until well into his 70s – many years after Bella had passed – after her death, Jack would merely be going through life’s motions, waiting to die. An untouched quarter ounce lay in Bella’s dresser for years afterwards.

One day, it was just too much. Bella felt as though she was truly losing her mind, her hair, her life. Of course, having stopped chemo for some time beforehand, it was no longer that toxic drug that was causing her issues but the cancer itself. **Fuck cancer.** Jack had gone to work late because she was having such a bad morning. He’d already given her some morphine, all Bella had to do was inject a bit more. **It was easy!** Jack gave her enough to stave off the pain and Bella felt clear-headed for the first time in _days._ That had allowed her to realise that she had to go seize the day and seize her death. She filled up a syringe and got on the bus to Lecter’s office. She knew that he wouldn’t be seeing a patient during the lunch hour, so she could go and be alone. 

After Bella had stepped off the bus, she walked to the old Catholic church across from Lecter’s residence. She ducked into the cathedral, found a restroom, and took the entire syringe of morphine before returning the needle’s cap and slipping it into her pocket for easy discovery once the EMTs were inevitably called.

Bella could already feel the drug taking effect when she knocked on Lecter’s office door, her other hand grasping her purse and a small gift bag. Hannibal looked at his wrist watch – no one was scheduled. “Dr. Lecter, I need in!” Lecter ran to the door, recognizing the slightly slurred voice of Bella Crawford. He helped Bella in and to a chair; she smiled at him sleepily. “This is for you, a gift.” Bella’s purse fell off of her wrist and to the floor as she held the small bag out to Lecter. Regarding her carefully, Hannibal took the bag. In it there was a leather box. Inside the box, a French Gold Rooster. He understood the symbolism. “For helping me see that death isn’t my defeat, but my cure,” Bella told him. The coin was Socrates’ offering to Ascelpius, Greek god of medicine and healing. Bella had hoped that in time, Lecter would repay her by comforting her husband and convincing him that there could – and _would_ – be life without her. However, that was also to be the last moment that Phyllis “Bella” Crawford trusted Dr. Hannibal Lecter at all.

Ever curious, Lecter played a game of chance with Bella’s life, flipping the coin and catching it on the back of his hand. With the coin sandwiched between his hands, Lecter looked at Bella and asked her, “heads or tails?” What light was left in her eyes regarded him with confusion. “Okay, head’s then. Tails, I call Jack.” With that, Bella’s hooded eyes snapped to attention. Hannibal looked at the coin. “Tails it is then.” He went to an antique armoire and came back with a syringe of his own before calling an ambulance and Jack Crawford.


	7. After the Betrayal

The next three weeks were the worst for Bella because she was still alive enough to talk to Jack and react to the world around her. She couldn’t ignore what she’d done, but she didn’t much care either. Jack, on the other hand, took it as a betrayal. “Why did you slap him?” he finally asked the next day, after she’d been discharged from the hospital and he’d gotten her comfortable in bed. Hannibal had followed them to the hospital and returned Bella’s coin. Upon hearing Lecter’s voice near her, Bella gathered up every ounce of strength in her body to strike out at him, hitting his cheek loudly.

Bella grimaced. “Because he knows, Jack. That man knows death more than me or you or anyone else I’ve ever met. I could see it in his eyes, yet he flipped a coin and decided to take my ability to experience my own death on my own terms **away** from me.” She stopped to catch her breath, a thin hand reaching up to her mouth in case she started in on another coughing fit. “He’s not a man, Jack. He’s a monster. _He’s a damned monster._ Don’t you trust him again!” 

Bella had always had a good sense about folks, but surely this was stemming from her initial dislike of Lecter along with his attempt to save her life. At the hospital, before returning the coin to Bella, Hannibal apologized to Jack, telling him, “I did it for you, Jack. Because you’re my friend.” It would take Jack Crawford a long time to realise that Hannibal Lecter truly had no friends.


End file.
